A week after, when the strange cat had ceased to howl round the house, she came back again; but as soon as the schoolroom door was left ajar, the urgent business in the kitchen claimed her, and Pasht disappeared for many hours.
Poor little Pasht, were you disappointed that no one met you in the garden to flirt with, or wanted to bounce out of the laurel bushes and exhibit his masculine beauty before you? Or, after all, is your little heart as hard as I think it, and do you prefer a nice warm room, a lawn to romp on, someone in whose lap to lie, who will gently ruffle your throat and ears—do you really, deep down in your heart, prefer these beyond all lovers whatever?
Anyhow, when Pasht appeared at the long window, she had a gay, innocent little air on, and she ran in saying, “You see, the fine weather did tempt me to stay out rather long,—where is my breakfast?”
Never mind, little Pasht; we will arrange an honourable alliance some day with a gentleman of rank.
III
IN THE BOSOM OF THE FAMILY
IS it not true that there is a very general want of recognition of family-life among domestic animals? It is a great mistake to suppose they are incapable of it; often, as a matter of fact, they do not lead domestic lives, for the simple reason that people will not let them. If, for instance, you won’t keep a whole family of cats, how can you expect them to develop domestic affections? We talk of their being “domesticated,” but we mean that they are made a part of our domestic arrangements, without being allowed to have any of their own; yet they are quite as capable of it as we are. Of course their domesticity does not last long, naturally and necessarily not, because they have not one family but a series of families, and one family must be dismissed before the next is taken on; so domestic affection developes into murderous desires. However, I must say that in all experiences I have personally had of cats, guinea-pigs, rabbits, dogs, goats, and birds, I have only known one murder, and that was by an uncle.
Rector was allowed to have all his family about him. His wife was decidedly under-bred. He was called Rector, in fact, because he would not catch the mice, and had to have another less aristocratic but more useful cat to help him. The curate was called Jenny. She was a low-bred tabby. Rector could not help despising Jenny, and if anything vexed him he used to bite her badly; but she was a very meek drudge, and took it as a matter of course. Rector was white, with blue eyes, so we only kept the white kittens, some of which were blue-eyed, and not deaf; blue-eyed or not, Rector used to take them out walks in the evening.